The Age of Walkers
by The-Awkward-Gamer-73
Summary: "The day the dead rose up was the day everyone's life changed. The hardships we're about to face will shape us, change us and maybe even kill us. But I know that we can make it, if we're smart and capable enough to fight for our lives. So, will we do it together?" There were others who helped shape the story of the Walking Dead, and these are their stories.
1. The Day it Began (Part 1)

**Author Note: With the recent endings of both the comics and video games, I thought it fitting to begin anew another _Walking Dead_ story, commencing at the very onset of the outbreak that started it all. This is primarily centred around the game/comic timeline, but will incorporate elements of the TV show as well.**

**WARNING! This fanfic will heavily feature original characters (all in a first-person P.O.V.), mild-to-heavy swearing and mentions of gore. If this isn't something you enjoy, continue at your own behest.**

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Chapter 1  
The Day it Began (Part 1)

**Jacob**

_Good God, what has that man been eating?_

My eyes water as I tiptoe into the lair of eternal stench, bile rising to meet my tongue. Lunch-I-never-ate, meet floor.

Fortunately, that introduction never came to pass, as I somehow force myself to swallow, the acid burning my throat on the way down. Hope you enjoyed your stay, 'cos you ain't gonna be welcome in my mouth anytime soon. Not if I have anything to say about it.

I spot the fabled treasure chest of horrors, a ray of sunlight seemingly giving the coffer an almost ethereal glow. With as much care as I possibly can, I slide a drawer open and thrust my arms deep into a mountain that is made entirely from the underwear of the monster I am most familiar with. Several long hairs brush against my skin as I delve deeper in search of the prize I desperately seek.

_Oh, please don't let that be what I think it is._

A single hair flies out and lands in my mouth.

_Crap, it is! Attention, everyone! Mistress Barf is now a returning customer… and will soon collect her permanent Very Impatient Puke pass!_

No points for guessing what happened next, but I really hope no one looks in a specific wardrobe for a while.

I continue my pursuit through the dense marsh of torment, until eventually I feel something that is decidedly not underwear. And, with elation and relief rising in my chest, I wrench my trophy from the drawer's depths.

Guess my surprise when I nearly whack myself in the head… with the barrel of a gun. Oh yeah, this big boy found a loaded revolver in an underwear drawer. Forgive me for my crazy reaction, but I chucked that shit away quick. No way was I gonna end up accidentally shooting myself. I've got enough problems as it is, especially since I just fell on what is probably the loudest floorboard in history.

_CRACK!_

_And_ it looks like I just added another to my list. I glance down at my feet, my heart pounding at the sight of a picture frame beneath my foot. It must've been knocked over by the gun. Damn my stupid aim!

Gingerly picking the picture up, and slicing my finger in the process (yeah, child genius right here), my heart sinks even further once I recognise the photo. Three people fill the frame: on the right is the monst- man who's raising me, his eyes bloodshot and a forced smile decorating his face; to the left is the energetic bundle of joy that was toddler me (huh, was I always that oblivious?); and in the centre is the bald, gown-wearing angel that I only knew as Mum. Our last photo as a somewhat-happy family…

I'd almost forgotten about this… but then again it was five or six years ago, and nobody in this photo is exactly capable of reminding me. My only reminder is the old Walkman that constantly lies in my pocket.

"Sometimes a little music," she would say, "can make the worst day bearable."

And whaddya know? Every day, I prove her right. I guess mothers _do_ know best.

I tentatively place the photo back atop the chest of drawers, right next to the gun that had caused me to so recklessly crush it (that's right, I'm blaming the gun), and, after a final tender glance, I resume my fruitless search.

_DING._

Huh, maybe not so fruitless, after all. Hallelujah.

The device that I have pursued for so long is now within my grasp. Finally, the wind-up battery charger lays in the palm of my hand. Mwahaha. Yes, it's just a battery charger, but a victory is still a victory in my eyes. Quickly stuffing the charger into my backpack, I prepare to make a run for it, before he-

_BANG!_

-comes back.

_Oh, crap _is the only thought running through my head as I topple over, knocking the photo off the chest (thankfully landing atop my bag this time). I will readily admit to gulping slightly as I look up at the giant behemoth that stands before me. Anyone would if they knew what I knew: pain is not too far away.

Uh-oh, he's being very silent. That's never a good sign.

He marches over to me, nostrils flaring and spraying me with snot (gross!), his eyes almost piercing my very soul as he picks up the bloodstained photograph. As he peeks at the photo, I notice that his features become slightly softer, more human, before reverting to his usual furious demeanour.

I already know I'm doomed, but that doesn't mean I'm not gonna try and get out of it.

"I-I-I'm so s-sorry, Dad," I manage to stutter (oh, I'm definitely not Gryffindor or Dauntless material, not with that stammer). "I-it was an accident, I d-didn't mean-"

_SMACK!_

Damn, he's wearing his ring again today. Ow.

_CLONK!_

My head throbs as the floor rises to meet me. Great, another 'Bottle Baseball' episode, starring me as the ball. I know another's coming, so I do my best to protect my head, hot blood flowing through my hair.

_CRASH!_

Oh, thank God! He's smashed it already, but- oh no, he didn't finish it. Welp, that shirt's gonna stink like booze for a week. My sight goes white as the spirits seep into the cuts… and now there's the familiar taste of copper. What's it been, a week, since we last met?

I can barely register what he's murmuring before pain erupts across my back. My teeth dig deeper into my lips in a futile effort to not scream out. If I do, I'll regret it; that much he's taught me.

_WHA-TOOSH!_

"After all she did for you," he growls. "THIS is how you treat her memory?!"

Tears begin to well up in the corners of my eyes, but they're not from the pain. Those words sting more than any belt or slap ever could. And he knows it.

I don't know how long it lasts this time, but I'm a broken, sobbing mess by the time he decides to leave for work. Only with great effort do I manage to get to my feet, my shirt stained and sticking to my back like glue. There's no doubt that it's ruined now.

I can barely don a dark jacket as I stumble out of the apartment, dragging my bag behind me. If there's one thing experience has shown me, it's that carrying a bag on your injured back is not a good idea, believe me.

Agony wreaks havoc on my back with every move I make. We only live on the second floor, but each stair feels like hell. The harsh Atlantan heat that assaults me outside does nothing to help, merely compelling me to dash to a haven post haste.

A sharp spike of pain ripples through my spine and I feel my legs nearly buckle beneath me. I'm not exactly looking forward to breaking my nose on the pavement, so I take a seat on one of the many bus benches that litter the sidewalk. Honestly, they're like a dime a dozen in this city.

As I rest my shaking legs (be still, my children, be still), I'm just now realising that I don't hear the normal honking of cars that usually plagues the city. I turn around (with great difficulty, mind you) and spot what looks like a battalion of soldiers marching in front of a tank. A multitude of questions cross my mind but the most prevalent of them is:

_What the hell is the tank for?_

My eyebrows furrow and I shake my head. It's probably not worth thinking about it.

The lashes on my back scream in protest as I stand up and pop my headphones in.

_Man, I really hope Mum's advice works on belt lashes._

I hit play just as someone bumps into me. Ouch. I wince, clenching my fists to alleviate the pain and head for the sanctuary of the library. Maybe Señora Lines can help me. She always knows what to do.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

**Ethan**

_You've got to be fucking kidding me. Who left the blind up?_

I can safely say, without a doubt, that I really hate mornings. I can almost feel my eyes shrivelling up in the sunlight. As if today could get any worse.

I'm just about to get out of my seat to close the blind… when I'm reminded of the five-foot-seven goddess lying in my lap. Her platinum blonde locks are almost like silk in the morning sun, flowing down to her shoulders like a river of silver. My lips curl upwards at the sight of her; just her being with me is enough to warm my heart.

"Attention, passengers, this is your captain speaking," says a voice over the intercom. "We are beginning our final approach into Atlanta International Airport, so I advise that all passengers adhere to the fasten seatbelt sign. I hope you've enjoyed your flight with us and, as always, thank you for flying Delta Airlines."

A groan escapes my lips. It pains me to do this to my sleeping beauty, but the cruel voice in the sky dictates that I must. I shake her awake ever-so-slightly and, with a brief peck on the cheek, her eyelids flutter open to reveal the amethyst orbs that I could get lost in for hours.

"Are we there yet?" she yawns, a smirk plastered on her face.

I snort. "Nearly, babe."

She gently pushes herself off me (oomph, that wasn't my leg) and lowers the armrest just as the cabin begins to descend. Shit, I always hate this part. My hands turn paper white as I feel my stomach disappear, the armrest becoming increasingly strained in my grip. Make it stop, oh please make it stop.

Slender, inviting fingers rest atop my straining hand and I grasp them like a lifeline. Jewel's eyes meet my own and she sends me a heart-fluttering smile, her eyes communicating a simple message:

_I'm here for you._

I don't know why, but that makes me feel so much better.

My heart practically stops when I hear the tyres impact the asphalt, but the worst part's over. I can relax now, a fact I'm certain Jewel is grateful for.

Heh heh, my bad.

**-_Time Break-_**

"Well, well, well. The great Ethan Collins has decided to grace us with his presence."

_Oh, Good Lord. I'm not gonna make it home, am I?_

I look to my right and… yep, Jewel's eyes are just as wide as mine. She turns around first, I can't even bear to look.

She whimpers. Oh yeah, it's him, there's no doubt now.

"And what's this?" another voice chimes in. "Has Mistress Jewel deigned to return with him? This just cannot be."

I sneak a peek. What meets my eyes is the dynamic duo of the Georgian ghetto, A.K.A. the future bane of our stomachs (and, eventually, ears), A.K.A. Keith and Andy.

"We'd have gladly caught a cab." Jewel snarks. "Or walked. Either is preferable."

Andy claps a hand to his chest, grabs hold of Keith's shoulders and starts to bawl. We all know he's faking, but why stop the charade when we can watch the show? Might as well drop this mammoth of a container that I dare call a bag so that I can get comfy.

Goddamn it, where's the popcorn when you need it?

… Alright, people are starting to stare, this has gone on for too long. I think even Keith's getting tired of this, if his full-body eye roll is any indication.

"'Tis alright, my love," he consoles, gingerly patting Andy on the back. "It is but a simple jest… they don't mean nothing by it."

I'm sorry, but did Keith just call Andy his love? Surely, I must've misheard.

_MWAH!_

Ah no, that's a full-on kiss. Huh, guess we've missed more than we expected. Y'know, I always was rooting for those two, in a totally not-weird way.

Andy pretends to swoon, the beginnings of a smirk making itself known.

"I need a minute." he announces in the most theatrical voice imaginable. Jesus Christ, who knew Andy could be so melodramatic?

…

I now realise that that is probably the stupidest question I've ever asked. They've already gotten to me.

I share a furtive glance with Jewel. She nods and we tiptoe backwards as quietly and as quickly as we possibly can.

But alas, 'twas not to be. Stupid squeaky shoes!

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Keith smirks. "The 'Great Atlantan Road Trip' awaits… in our direction."

Oh shit, we're not getting out of this, are we? It seems resistance really is futile.

"It's ten miles, dude." I remind him. "That's not exactly a road trip."

He chuckles. "Sure, it is. We're taking a ten-mile trip, on a road. Therefore, a road trip."

With that, he grabs my bag, hoisting it with little to no effort. Oh, if we were locked up…

"And besides," Andy finishes between sobs. "How else were we gonna get the old band back together?"

_Old band?_ I stare at Andy pointedly; he merely tilts his head to something behind me. As if on cue, the restroom door squeaks open and… no, that can't be her. Her skin wasn't nearly this grey the last time I saw her.

"Danielle!" Jewel exclaims, embracing her. Danielle looks almost ready to throw up, but she returns the hug. Little damp patches begin to form on Jewel's shirt, directly below Danielle's hands. Has she got a fever or something?

I turn to Keith and Andy. "Is she okay?"

Andy shrugs. "Dunno," he admits. "She wasn't nearly this bad when we got in the car."

"Maybe your driving upset her stomach." Keith smirks. Atta boy, I knew we were friends for a reason.

But yikes, if looks could kill…

"You better watch it," Andy growls. "It ain't pretty, but my driving is what's getting you home today."

A tortured hacking cough draws our attention back to Danielle. She is not looking good at all right now; I mean she's practically using Jewel as a crutch just to walk the short distance to the car.

"Oh no," she coughs, her teeth chattering. "T-there's no way you're d-driving back. I'll drive m-myself if I have to."

Andy's gaze softens, but that same annoying smirk remains plastered on his face. "Can_ you _drive a stick?"

"…W-well… no"

His grin turns positively evil. "Hop in then."

Keith heaves our luggage into the trunk of the car without hesitation. Despite the _awe-inspiring_ confidence Andy is displaying, I can't help but feel that this isn't gonna end well, for Danielle or me and Jewel.

"Oh, and Ethan," Keith calls as he closes the door. "Happy birthday."

"Doesn't exactly feel like one." I remark.

"I know, buddy. I know."

**-_Time Break-_**

I can vividly remember the last time I was in Atlanta. It was a little over three years ago, but it now seems like an eternity to me. I remember the almost robotic loading of my life into labelled boxes, the tearful hugs and kisses from Mum, and the proud spark in my dad's eyes as I said goodbye.

"You go get that girl, E.T." I recall him whispering to me, and I remember rolling my eyes at the nickname then. I never knew how much I would come to miss it.

"Now, now, Sam," my mum had chimed in, the handkerchief in her hand damp with tears. "You don't need to embarrass him; he'll have plenty of opportunity to do that when he gets there."

The cordiality had been a mere formality then, but the pained look in my dad's eyes was forever burned into my skull that day. He had managed to force a weak smile, but he'd known it wouldn't truly convince me. It was at times like these when I think he realised just how big of a consequence he had incurred through his consuming focus on his career, but he knew it was too late to fix his mistakes. The spark had long since disappeared.

He'd enwrapped me in a hug that I had reciprocated fervently. "I'll miss you, Ethan."

_I miss you now, Dad. I wish I could tell you._

_HOOOONNNNK!_

The noise forces me out of my musings and I'm almost instantly gasping for breath, a new imprint of my face etched on the window. Most guys would be thrilled for two women to fall atop them, but when one of them is sicker than a Catholic priest with the mumps and the other is much heavier than they look (sorry, Jewel), it kinda takes the magic away.

I hear the tyres screaming on the asphalt as we swerve, and I feel the rumble as an eighteen-wheeler rolls past us. Andy, you idiot.

"Keep your eyes on the road, dipshit!" I hear Keith yell. Can't say I don't agree with him.

"How was I supposed to see him? He was in my blind spot!"

"YOU DON'T NEED TO!" comes the retort. "It's a fucking truck, you can HEAR it coming!"

Jesus Christ, these two are either all lovey-dovey and sickening or they argue like an old married couple. Oh, what wouldn't I do to get an extra day away from their shenanigans?

"E-exactly how did you get your license?" Danielle stutters, nervously glancing at the cars we're speeding past. "Did you bribe the examiner or something?"

"Shut it!" the two respond in unison. Ah, how perfect they are for each other.

I see Jewel smirk beside me. "I'm with Danielle on this one. You're not exactly disproving any stereotypes, Andy."

His eyes bore into her through the rear-view mirror, nearly becoming slits.

"Don't push me," he warns. "I will crash the car."

"Go ahead. Prove her right." I goad, quickly buckling my seatbelt. What?! He's crazy and possibly mad enough to do it. I'm not taking any chances, especially on the highway at eighty miles an hour.

I hear a siren behind us. Well, that's just great. Of course, the idiot has attracted the attention of the cops. Why am I not surprised?

Wait a minute. Is he… ignoring us? I mean, he must've seen us, and yet, he's somehow speeding right by us.

Another squad car races by.

And another. And another.

Now SWAT vans are going past us and… is that a helicopter? Okay, what the hell is going on?

The radio crackles to life. We hear a few snippets of music and then-

"…thanks, Jim. In local news, numerous reports of violent assaults are coming in from across Atlanta, which experts claim to be the result of a recent outbreak of a mutated strain of mad cow disease. The police and Armed Forces have been deployed at several locations across the city in order to contain the outbreak before it can spread to a nation-wide epidemic. Huh, wouldn't that be the day. Up next, the Blossom Festival in Macon…"

I turn to Jewel. "Do you think your dad's helping out with all this?"

"I don't know," she replies, glancing nervously at her phone. "I haven't heard anything from him lately, but he might just be on patrol. It's Mum who I'm worried about."

I wince. Yeah, her mum's gonna have her hands full with patients now. Highly contagious patients at that.

I don't know what awaits us in Atlanta, but I have a feeling it's not gonna be good.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

**Lucian**

I glance at the crumpled photo in my hand. Now I'm not ordinarily sentimental, but I kinda like this photo nowadays, especially since Violet got sent to that horrible school, Dickson's. Or was it called Ericson's? Eh, either way, it's what she put in the letter.

The smell emanating from the box in my lap is so intoxicating; I almost want to gobble it up myself, but brotherly duty dictates that I shouldn't (why, God, why?). The heat sears my legs as the car leaves the smooth road of civilised (or as civilised as a Texan-at-heart could be) society and thuds along the dirt paths of savagery. Mother of all things holy, I half-expect a monster to jump out at us in this forest. How Violet can stand being this isolated from… well, civilisation… is beyond me.

My vision is quickly obscured with dust as the car grinds to a halt in front of a wrought-iron gate flanked by solid brick walls. In all honesty, this place looks more like a prison than a school; it's a wonder they don't have a uniform consisting of orange jumpsuits. Something at the top of the entrance catches my eye and I see the words _Ericson's Boarding School for Troubled Youth_ adorning the gateway, with the little sunlight still around glinting off it into my eyes.

I can feel my ears heating up. Violet is NOT a troubled youth, no matter what anyone says.

A tall and lanky man runs right past the gate, being chased by a red-headed tubby girl who… holy crap, that fork is about as big as my arm!

Okay, maybe THAT girl deserves to be here, but Violet? Nope.

**-_Time Break-_**

Why am I not surprised? Of course, they'd leave me here whilst they talk about Violet's "progress" with that portly bastard Ericson. If I knew I could get away with it, I'd carve a big dick right on his precious self-portrait. Ugh, what an ass!

Well, I might as well find Vi before I succumb to the sweet aroma from the box. I swear, the things I do…

It's a mission just traversing the wooden jungle of the school, what with the random kids running through the halls, whose primary task seems to be to knock over the poor tiny kid that is me. Can't exactly say that I blame them, since they're still stuck in this prison in the middle of July, but all I ask is for some common courtesy.

"So… you new here?" I hear someone ask. I turn around and come face to chin with a skinny boy with dark dreadlocks that, honestly, might just be the second worst hair I've seen today. I say second because I'm pretty sure I saw another kid with a dead cat on his head.

I reply with a quick and short "No." as I take a small step back. I don't know what this guy's here for, could be murder for all I know.

He notices this. Dang it, I thought I was being discrete.

"Don't worry. I don't bite," he chuckles, holding out a hand. "The name's Louis."

I glance at his hand in disgust. I can see the dirt and what must've been his lunch from yesterday stuck between his fingers. Does this guy even wash his hands? Ew.

"Lucian," I respond, avoiding his hand like the plague. So what? I'm a clean freak, sue me.

"Lucian?" I know it's a weird name, you don't have to repeat it. "That's a mouthful." Not really. "Can I call you Luke?"

I glare at him. "Absolutely not."

He still hasn't lowered his arm. When's he going to take the hint?

"Oh wow. Got it, you're not a shaker," he jokes, lowering his hand (thank God). "I guess you're not a hugger either."

He laughs like he just made the best joke in the world. I now understand why he's here: he annoyed his parents to death. Yep, that's my cue to leave.

"Oh, c'mon," he exclaims. "I know it wasn't the greatest, but… not even a smile?"

I raise an eyebrow. This guy is really starting to grate on my nerves. Doesn't he ever just shut up?

I must look plenty annoyed, because he begins to back up. "Okay, okay, I can take a hint."

"Thank you!" I yell in relief, the sarcasm so evident in my voice that I'm practically holding up a sign. I turn to leave.

"But wait!" Oh, for crying out loud. "If you're not a new kid, that means you're visiting someone."

"Wow, genius!" I snark. "You figured that out all on your own?"

He smirks. "What can I say? I got brains and beauty." God help me. "Let me guess, you're here to see that dark and brooding girl with the whitish hair? You know, like yours?"

_Dark and brooding? Vi's not… okay, fair point._

"Oh shit, what's her name?" he continues, concentrating for, what might be, the first time in his life. "V- Vivian… Victoria… it was something with a V, I know it."

As much fun as it is watching him struggle, my patience won't last forever. "Violet?" I suggest.

His face lights up like he just won the lottery. "Oh yeah, Violet. I think her room is just down the hall. Third… no, fifth… on the left."

FINALLY! Something useful comes out of his mouth, but I'm not gonna give him the satisfaction, so as I walk away, I remark, "Knowing what I know about you, I'll assume it's really on the other side of the building."

"Ouch. That hurt." He places a hand over his heart. "Right here."

I eventually come to a halt in front of the door and knock. That Louis guy had better be right, otherwise I'm gonna kill him. Slowly and painfully.

The door creaks open and… oh, for fuck's sake. Is everyone taller than me now?

"Luke?" I wince. How many times have I told her not to call me that? Now it's payback time.

"Hey, Vi." Yep, that's her kryptonite. But sometimes you've got to fight fire with fire. It's only fair.

But sweet Jesus, that scowl of hers is still terrifying. I don't know how she does it, but she makes me feel as if Satan himself is staring into my very soul.

I hold up the box in my hands. "I bring a peace offering."

Her eyes widen in disbelief. "Are those…?" she begins.

"Yep." I confirm, smirking as she snatches the box from my hands and runs to her bed. My self-control has saved the day once again, so I can afford to be a little smug. "So… how's this shithole been treating ya?"

Her mouth is almost full to the brim with chicken nuggets, but she still (unfortunately) manages to speak. "'S een awwight." she slurs, purposely letting small pieces of food fly out of her mouth. Why purposefully? Because she knows it annoys me. That was some "thank you", after all that I have suffered by not gorging myself on those nuggets.

She swallows and looks at me. "Can't complain. Literally." she snarks. "Otherwise, more therapy. Yay!"

The pit of my stomach drops slightly. I should've been there with her, helped her when Gran… did what she did. I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I just hadn't gone to that stupid party. What if I just stayed with Violet? What if…?

A nugget strikes me right in the nose and falls into the palm of my hand. Did- did she really just do that? Violet freezes in place and awkwardly looks away, rubbing the back of her neck like she normally does.

"Need I ask?" I probe, holding the delicious weapon of assault up.

She continues to look down at the ground. "Ah… shit," she curses. "You- well… you just need to – you know – cheer up, I guess?"

I raise an eyebrow at her. What the hell is she on about?

"I mean, I'm the one stuck in this shithole, not you. So…" she trails off.

Ah, that's where her thinking's at. Can't really say I blame her, all things considered. I haven't exactly been the greatest brother lately, especially since the move, but that doesn't mean…

"You see, that's the reason I can't cheer up, Vi." I explain, sitting on the bed beside her. "You're in this prison on your own and I can't help but feel that it's, at least partially, my fault."

I can almost feel her eyes widening beside me. "You had nothing do with that," she protests. "If Gran hadn't-"

"No, I did!" I yell, releasing all the guilt I've pent up. "I shouldn't have left you with her! Not whilst she was like that. I should've stayed, I should've told Max that I couldn't go out that night, I should've been with you like the brother I'm supposed to be!"

She recoils at my outburst, but I barely notice. I'm so wrapped up in how much of my fault her situation is that I hardly realise she's left my side until her arms are wrapped around me, warming me with their presence. It might be the inexperience with this kind of thing talking, but I never knew Violet could give such great hugs.

"Lucian," she whispers. "There was nothing either of us could do, you know that, right?" She looks right into my eyes. "Best case scenario: we'd both be stuck here. And believe me, that would've been as much fun as shoving hot coals in our eyes."

I know she's right, but I can't shake the idea that I should be able to protect her more. As an older brother should.

She gets up and walks to a closet near the door. "And besides," she continues, her voice muffled slightly as she rummages around. "This place isn't all bad. Sometimes it's funny seeing people like Ruby lose their shit with the teachers."

"Yeah, but-" I look to her window. "They've put bars on your windows. I mean, it's not like you're a criminal or anything."

She turns and tosses something to me. It sails past my head and lands with a _THWAK_ on the hard-wooden floor. Gingerly picking it up, I realise she just tossed me a Swiss army knife, the metal chilling in my palm.

"You wanna be a 'protective' brother?" she snarks, amusement evident in her eyes. "Then take that… as payment for the nuggets, of course."

"Should I be concerned as to how you got this?"

"It's a school for troubled youth for a reason."

_Fair point_.

I pocket the knife (_heh, pocketing a pocket-knife_) as Violet returns to the bed. My arm snakes around her shoulder, silently laughing as I shake my head. Who knew that Violet would be the one to start sorting my problems out?

"Since when did you get so wise?" I ask.

She smirks. "Since just now, apparently." Good Lord, this hellhole has already changed her so much. Soon, she'll be professing her eternal love for baseball (not that I would mind).

I hold out the nugget and she shakes her head. "I threw that at you for a reason, dummy. Eat up!"

"You sure?"

She nods in response. Ah well, I'm not about to ignore a free nugget.

As the food disappears down my throat, I chuckle to myself. "So much wisdom and goodwill. And here I was thinking that I was supposed to be the older twin."

She growls and looks away. "Two damn minutes…" she pauses and glances at me, a smirk on her face. "But I'm still taller."

_Grr._

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**Author Note: Thanks for reading this first instalment in what I hope will be a long and amazing story. This is just the introductory chapter, where I introduce a few of my O.C.s and develop them a bit, so I apologise for any lack of action.**

**If any of you wish to submit an O.C. of your own, please do. I am more than willing to incorporate them as I am still (somewhat) in the planning stages and wish to make this story more than just a retelling of Telltale's (or even the comic/TV show's) Walking Dead. I want to expand the world of the Walking Dead in ways that haven't yet been done and I could use any and all help I can get.**

**Please remember to follow this story to receive updates and, if you can, please review. It may not seem like much, but lots of reviews really help in motivating starting writers like me to continue. **


	2. The Day it Began (Part 2)

**Author Note: I'll admit, I felt a little underwhelmed when I saw how little people had viewed my story, but I'm not gonna let it bother me. I hope this next chapter will peak the interests of new readers and hopefully entice you guys to review. Believe me, a review can go a long way, so please... please review.  
**

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Chapter 2  
The Day it Began (Part 2)

**Ethan**

By some unknown miracle, we make it to the borders of Atlanta intact. I don't mean to sound racist or anything, but our Asian driver (the infuriating Andy) is quite possibly the worst driver in the entire hemisphere. No joke, because whilst Andy may've restored colour to Danielle's face, it was not the colour any of us desired (unless someone was hoping for green).

As we approach the city, I notice that the military have already set up a perimeter and are checking every car that passes. Some unfortunate people are even being dragged out and escorted to who-knows-where; maybe they're being taken to a quarantined area?

The traffic has slowed to a crawl which, on the bright side, has forced Andy to actually drive at a reasonable pace. It takes almost half an hour to move fifty metres and, in that time, Danielle is shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. When we finally reach the checkpoint, it's a relief to see a familiar face.

"Mooorrrnnning, civilians," comes the recognisable voice of one Nico Rodriguez. "And how are you doing on this fine day?"

Andy winds down the window and gives him the old handshake we used to do. Damn, it's been a long time since I've seen that.

"Not too bad." Andy replies without a touch of irony. Speak for yourself, you maniac. "Could've done without the long wait though."

Nico snorts. "Yeah, sorry about that. Standard procedure for an outbreak like this." He looks in through the window. "Since you're the one driving, I'll assume everyone else in there has already puked their guts out then."

I roll down my window. "You can say that again."

"Ethan?" he squints. "Long time no see. You look different."

"So do you." I motion to his uniform. "I honestly didn't think you'd survive boot camp."

"Heh, you and me both, brother. But now look at me." He gestures to a three-arrowed emblem on his shoulder. "Staff Sergeant. Who knew, right?"

He chuckles awkwardly and turns to Andy expectantly "Look, I hate to do this, but I've got to ask. It's my orders and all, so here it goes. Has anyone in here been in contact with any infected individual?"

We all collectively shake our heads.

"Alright, is anyone in there experiencing symptoms such as a loss of vision, headache, nausea or fever?"

I glance over at Danielle, who freezes like a deer in headlights, her face as white as a sheet. Nico notices this and squats to get a better look. Sorrow flashes across his face for a fleeting second, which is soon replaced by a near-catatonic expression.

"Step out of the vehicle, Danielle." he requests. "Please."

Jewel opens the door and helps her out, guiding her over to Nico. She shivers slightly, despite the sun beating down upon her.

"I-it's just a fever." Danielle stutters. "P-probably j-just a c-c-cold."

"That may be so, Dan," Nico responds. "But I still have to make sure. Show me your arms and legs."

Danielle rolls down her sleeves and hoists her pant legs up. Her skin, whilst pale, shows no signs of any blemishes or injuries whatsoever. Still Nico continues to inspect her, twisting her arms so that he can see the other sides, lifting her hair to inspect her neck. It's saddening to watch, especially when tears begin to roll down Danielle's cheeks, the fear evident in her eyes.

Nico sighs. What has he found? I'm afraid to even ask.

"You're clean." he announces. Oh, thank God. Jewel runs to Danielle's side and wraps her in her arms, ushering her back to the car. Andy and Keith each let loose a breath and slump forward, their heads resting on the wheel and dashboard respectively.

"Here's a bit of friendly advice," Nico continues. "Don't go to the hospital. They're quarantined. Just try to sleep it off and push through it, alright?"

Keith and Andy share a glance (though I have no idea what for) whilst Danielle nods, relief flooding her face. "Thank you." she whispers.

"Wait, quarantined?!" Jewel starts, her eyes widening. "What do you mean 'quarantined'? What are you talking about?"

"It means that all non-essential personnel were removed from the building to make way for the infected," Nico explains, backing away slightly. "Only those specialising in Infectious Diseases or those requested by the CDC were left behind."

Jewel's fingers run through her hair. I can already tell she's beginning to worry, so I reach out and grip her hand tightly, like she so often does for me.

"Requested?" she repeats. "Was- was my-?"

Nico shakes his head rapidly. "Nope, she wasn't. I made sure to check when I was first informed."

Jewel visibly relaxes. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Nico responds. "I really am sorry for all this undue stress. That was never my intention."

"S'alright, we understand." Keith chimes in.

"Good… good." He sighs. "Well, now that the unpleasant business is out of the way, why don't we all go out for a drink in an hour? You know, to celebrate Mr Collins's twenty-fourth?"

I slump in my seat. I'm honestly not in the mood, nor do I really think anyone else is now. "I thought military personnel weren't allowed to drink on patrol."

"True, but I'm off-duty then. And it's just one; I think my sergeants can handle without me for a few minutes."

I groan, glancing around the car. I've got Keith and Andy nodding their heads (of course, they would be), Jewel too unnerved to think straight and Danielle shivering beside me. You know what, fuck it. "Yeah, sure. After all this, I think everyone could use a drink."

"The usual place?"

"The usual place."

**-_Time Break-_**

_This place hasn't changed a bit_.

Walking up to the door, I notice that the same petunias and hydrangeas still dot the flowerbeds, albeit a little more lifeless and droopier. The same coat of paint remains on the front of the house, with small flakes peeling off at certain points.

Aah, home.

Huh, she even uses the same hiding spot for the key. At least some things never change.

The door handle feels heavy as I twist it. It's almost as if the house knows that something is missing, something – no – someone that'll never come back. Jewel's hand slides over my own, providing the extra push that I need.

The door creaks open.

The entryway is about as desolate and derelict as I would've expected. Normally pristine floors are now covered in a thin layer of dust, mountains of unopened mail lie on the tabletop and balled-up tissues have been thrown in seemingly random places.

_CRUNCH._

I look down at my foot and see the broken remains of one of my old trophies, the ones we usually have placed in this very hallway. It looks like I accidentally snapped the bow away from the rest of the bronze figurine. Damnit, and this one of my most prized (pun intended) trophies from when I was in high school.

I place it back in its proper spot, alongside many other trophies that have toppled over. But there still remains the question of how did it get so far away from the shelf? There's only one reason, and it's not a good one.

_Oh, Mum, what have you done to yourself?_

I can hear the TV blaring above me, so I pull Jewel along with me as I head upstairs, preparing myself for what could very well be a soul-crushing sight.

"…the suspect, former UGA professor Lee Everett, who was officially found guilty in yesterday's trial, is currently in police custody and is on route to the West Georgia Correctional Facility, where he'll spend the remainder of his sentence. Support is reportedly flooding in for the family of Senator Collins as many well-wishers hope to help them through this undoubtedly difficult time…"

Jewel grips my arm tightly at this. A lump forms in the back of my throat, but I continue up the stairs. I've got to check on Mum, I need to make sure she's alright.

She's right there in the kitchen, squeezing chocolate icing onto a charcoal-coloured block that I now realise is a cake. Her hands are shaking so much that little droplets of icing are splattering across the counter, but she doesn't even notice because her eyes are fixed on the screen, her tears almost assuredly blurring her vision.

I can't watch her like this anymore. I look around for the remote, for something – anything – that might turn that blasted report off. Just as I'm about to give up hope, the TV switches off and Jewel puts the remote down. Honestly, at this point, Jewel's been nothing but a lifesaver, and for that I'm extremely grateful.

Jewel rushes to my mum and enwraps her in a tearful hug. My mum can barely keep herself together, if the bone-crushing squeeze Jewel just received is anything to go by. I join the embrace somewhat awkwardly, perhaps even squashing Mum between us by mistake, but it's the only thing I can think of doing to help.

Slowly, but surely, we release her from the hug. Almost immediately, she wraps her arms around me again, her tears leaving small damp patches in my shirt.

"Ethan," she sobs, her arms tightening around me. "It's so good to see you."

I close my eyes and return the favour. "It's good to see you too, Mum."

"And Julia," she continues, turning to cup Jewel's cheeks. "My god, you've grown so beautiful since I last saw you."

"Thanks." Jewel blushes. Aww, she's so cute when she does that.

"So, how are you doing, Mum?" I ask. I already know the answer, but I want to hear it from her. I want to know that she's alright, that she's truly alright.

"I'm fine," she replies. Even now, she's trying to remain strong for me. None of us need that right now, Mum, least of all you. "I've just been a little out-of-sorts lately."

"Mum," I grip her tightly and look directly into her hazel eyes. "It's alright. We're here for you; you don't need to pretend for us."

Her eyes well up again and she buries her head in my chest. I stroke her hair soothingly, trying to emulate the many times she did this for me, from when I was afraid of the monsters beneath my bed. So much is said between us, without a sound leaving our mouths. She sniffles in my shirt, but I don't mind. I'll do anything to help her move past what happened to Dad.

"Sorry about your cake. It's just…"

"I know, Mum. I know."

**-_Time Break-_**

"I don't think we're gonna fit."

"No, I think you will." Andy denies, his voice getting a little higher.

"Which means-"

"Nononononononononono…"

"We're going to have to leave the car." Jewel smiles.

"NO!" Andy clings to the wheel. "We're not leaving my baby. My precious, my precious."

Keith rolls his eyes. "C'mon, Gollum." He tries to pry Andy's fingers off the wheel. "She's not going to disappear before we get back."

"You don't know that!"

Keith looks around in earnest. "People are starting to stare, babe."

"Let them stare!" Andy cries out. "You're not separating me and Precious."

Keith groans, tilting his ebony face to the heavens. "Alright," he sighs. "If you go, I'll…"

He leans down and whispers in Andy's ear. Andy's eyes expand in shock. "Really? Just for an hour away?"

"Yes, really." Keith confirms through gritted teeth. Ugh, now I have a vague idea of what he just offered. I did NOT need that image in my head.

Quick as a flash, Andy jumps out the car and begins walking in the complete wrong direction. Danielle clambers out as well, in all her shivering glory.

"F-for what it's w-worth," she stammers. "I'm g-glad Andy's n-not driving anymore."

_Not that he'd be able to, what with that tank now coming down the road._

Jewel puts a hand to Danielle's head and instantly recoils. "Are you sure you're up to coming? You don't exactly-"

"Yeah, I'm f-fine. Besides, a little c-cold air might be good f-for a while."

Yeesh, if she thinks it's cold at midday in a Georgian summer, I don't exactly think she should be up and about. Jewel, on the other hand, thinks otherwise. She nods and walks, holding my hand, down the CORRECT way to the bar (_Follow us, Andy!_).

Oh well, doctor's orders. And I suppose it is better than leaving her on her own. Best to keep her near.

I turn around and almost instantly collide with someone in a jacket too dark for this heat. As the kid passes (it's either a kid or a dwarf at that height), he clenches his fists in what I assume is either annoyance or anger. Jeez, take some chill pills, little dude.

I shake my head and continue to walk alongside Jewel, pushing that random occurrence to the back of my mind. We make it to the bar with little trouble (once Keith is finally able to convince Andy of which way we're going) and enter. The cold air inside is quite jarring compared to the summer heat outside, but it's a most welcome change at that.

_Ah, air conditioning. What would we do without you?_

Mum toddles over to one of counters, her black heels audibly clacking on the wooden floors, and is immediately greeted with a warm cup of tea. You see, when I said it was a bar, I really meant it was a bar-slash-coffee shop. I just call it a bar because that's what I always come here for.

Andy, Keith and I slide onto three separate stools and signal for the bartender whilst Jewel pulls out a stool for Danielle. A second later, Jewel gasps.

"What- what happened there?" she asks.

I turn and see Danielle frantically covering up her shoulder.

"Oh t-that? Some c-crazy guy just c-came up and b-bit me there this morning," she explains, waving Jewel off. "I'm fine. Sc-scared the hell out of me though."

If anything, Jewel looks even more worried. "This morning?" she clarifies, receiving a frantic nod from Danielle. "If this happened hours ago, it should've at least started clotting by now. This- this looks _fresh_."

"I promise, it- it was this morning."

Keith swivels around on his chair, a beer already in his hand. "She's telling the truth, Jewel," he confirms. "She was injured when we picked her up."

"And you didn't think to clean it?!" Jewel yells, aghast.

"We did!" Keith responds, his voice rising. "The stupid bandage must've slipped off again."

Jewel's mouth hangs upon as she glares at Keith. Quick as a flash, she ushers Danielle over to the bathroom, never ceasing her stare-off, and slams the door behind. I'll be the first to admit that she gets very scary when she's like that. Yikes.

But enough about that. I've got a cold beer with my name on it.

I barely have time to finish my first gulp before the exit door creaks open and a hush falls about the bar. I turn around to see what the commotion's about, but all I see is Nico standing in the entryway, his uniform crumpled under the weight of an assault rifle's strap. I motion over to him and signal to the bartender to bring another drink.

"Did you really have to bring in a gun?" I ask nonchalantly.

"Yep!" he replies, taking Danielle's seat. "Even if we weren't in the middle of a quarantine, I'd still have to. It was one of the first lessons trained into me by my first C.O.; if I didn't have it with me at all times: hello, eight-mile run."

His beer arrives and he uses what looks like a combat knife to pop the cap off. Huh, classic Nico, always using the method of least effort. He should write a book: _Life Hacks 101_ _– How to Half-Ass the Easy Stuff_.

"So, what about your squad, Sergeant?" I ask with a smirk. "Are they gonna be alright without their brave and mighty leader to guide them?"

He rolls his eyes. "I trust my sergeants, but yeah. I stationed them on the other side of the city. Don't want them to see me drinking and all, especially during quarantine. And its Staff Sergeant to you." he says, taking a sip from his bottle.

"Aah." he chuckles, visibly relaxing on his stool. "God, I remember when your old man first brought us here."

Over to my right, Mum stiffens, and her hands begin to shake. Her tea sloshes around her cup as she lifts it to her trembling lips. You just had to say it, didn't you, Nico?

He slaps his forehead in realisation. "Oh shit, sorry. Foot-in-mouth disease."

"It's alright." I say, putting an arm around my mum's shoulder. "I just hope that Everett bastard enjoys his stay in the slammer."

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

**Lee**

I feel a chill run down my spine. Why do I get the feeling someone was just talking about me?

"…usually this is about the time I get the 'I didn't do it'," the officer continues. I push that feeling to the side and respond.

"Not from me." I hang my head low. I know what I did, and I can't regret it enough. I mean, the Senator had a kid; how am I supposed to live with myself knowing that a child is going to be without their father because of me?

The officer keeps jabbering on, but I can barely concentrate on what he's saying. My mind is focused on that night; the one night I come home early to surprise her. I know I wasn't the greatest of husbands, Deborah, but… did you really need to show it to me in that way? I can feel my temper rising; I need to calm down and breathe.

Breathe in and out, breathe in and out…

Perhaps I did something wrong. Maybe I didn't tell her how much I loved her enough; maybe I pushed her away; maybe… maybe…

I sigh. Maybe I was just a selfish prick, a terrible husband, one who spent too much time fixating on his own work and interests instead of taking the time to consider her.

Whatever the reason, what's done is done. And a man is dead because of me. Now that I think about it, I realise that he might not have even known Deborah was married. I feel the pit of my stomach sink; an innocent man's blood is on my hands. What have I done?

A cacophony of sirens fills my ears. I look out the window and… goddamn, that's a lot of cops racing towards the city, even more than what I saw almost an hour ago. The police scanner in our car crackles to life.

"Warning all patrols, we've got a bunch of incoming 217's. Be advised for…"

The officer turns the radio off and finishes a story, "It just goes to show, people will do crazy things when they believe their life is over."

_Huh, ain't that true_.

"I got another good one for ya," he continues. Ugh, might as well listen to this one. "This one's a little less depressing and a little more hilarious if I do say so myself."

I turn my head. Wait, is that a person in the road? "LOOK OUT!"

Too late. We smash right into the figure and skid across the road. The officer tries to regain control of the vehicle, but the damage is already done. The guard rail draws ever closer to us and then…

_CRASH!_

We flip right over the rail and I feel almost weightless, my arms curling around my head as the ground rushes to meet us. The car lands and an excruciating pain shoots through my leg, but the car continues to roll despite this. Objects fly in every direction with each impact on the ground. My head hits something hard and I fall into an all-consuming darkness.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

**Clementine**

"We love you, Clementine. Be good for Sandra, will you?"

"I will, Mum." I reply with a smile. "I can't wait for you to get back home and see the raccoon."

"And I can't wait to see you too. I'm sure we'll be home very soon, sweetie." Mum's voice crackles over the walkie-talkie. "Bye-bye now."

"Byyyyeeee!"

The walkie clicks off in my hand. Yay, mum and dad are coming home soon! I'll be able to show them the new drawings I made, and that trick Sandra taught me and… the raccoon. I glance at my treehouse to check if it's still there.

Just as I look up, the raccoon leaps out of my treehouse, over the fence and scurries away.

Aww.

"Clementine!" I hear Sandra call. "Come inside, lunch's ready."

Ooh, lunch!

I sprint into the kitchen as fast as my legs can carry me, just in time to see Sandra plating up… yes, apple slices! Like a hunter stalking its prey, I strike and… mmm, it's so delicious.

"When your dad said you loved apples, I didn't expect you to love them _that_ much." Sandra chuckles. "I would've thought you'd have that reaction with oranges. Since, you know, Clementine and all."

I feel my cheeks burn as I swallow and whisper, "I just really like apples."

She holds her hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm not judging. We all have our little quirks," she shrugs and smiles. "Some oranges like apples, some people, like yours truly, enjoy babysitting. You know, little things."

_CRASH!_

I jump. What was that? Sandra jumps to her feet as well and rushes outside. I'm not far behind her when she peers over the fence and gasps at something I can't see. I hop up, trying to look over the fence, but Sandra pushes me down and runs me back inside.

"What's going on?" I ask as she frantically picks up her phone and dials. What did she see? Why isn't she telling me anything?

"C'mon, c'mon. Pick up." Sandra's face falls after a minute and she puts the phone down. "Damnit."

"What's going on?" I repeat. She's starting to scare me with how she's acting.

She glances at me and kneels, placing her hands on my shoulders. "Clem, someone crashed their car down the hill." I stare at her with wide eyes. Is that person dead? Was that why she didn't want me to see?

"I can't seem to get through to anyone, so I'm gonna need to help those people down there. You just need to-"

The front door bangs. Sandra spins her head around. "Just gimme me a minute!" she yells at the door. Whoever's outside groans and bangs on the door again. "I'm coming!"

She turns back to me. "Clem, could you go to your treehouse for a minute?" she asks. She receives a nod from me in return. "I just gotta deal with this guy and I'll call you when you can come out."

"Okay." I whisper and slide open the glass door. I turn around to close it just as the door bangs again, shuddering in its frame.

"Alright, I'm coming!" Sandra yells, opening the door. "Jeez, you're so impatient. It wouldn't kill you to have a little-"

The man outside lunges himself at her and all I can see is the blood gushing from Sandra's neck, the man's teeth sinking into her. I freeze in the doorway. I don't want to see but I can't seem to look away.

_SMACK!_

Sandra knocks the guy off her and crawls to the stairs, holding her hands to her neck. Blood seeps through her fingers, staining them a deep red. Vomit rises in my throat at the sight and Sandra's eyes seem just about ready to pop out.

She glances over at me and our eyes meet. As the crazy man begins to move again, she clambers to her feet and yells at me through the glass.

"RUN!"

I don't even think. I run. As fast as I can, I run to the treehouse and climb. Sharp pains prick my fingers on the ladder, but I don't even care. I just want to hide and wake up from this nightmare. An ear-piercing scream reaches me, and I shut my eyes, covering my ears as I shake, the floorboards quivering beneath me.

Make it stop! Make it stop!

I want Mum. I want Dad. I want them to hug me and tell me that everything's going to be alright, that it'll all be over soon.

Groans echo down below me. I hazard a peek and whimper. More of those people have gotten into the yard and… oh, no. They've surrounded the treehouse! They seem to be reaching out to me, clawing at thin air, their constant rattling sending shivers down my spine.

Why aren't they climbing? It's not like I'm too high up. And there's a ladder right there, so-

A lightbulb goes off in my head. What if they can't get up here? Maybe- maybe they can't climb. And if they can't… then that means I _should_ be safe up here. At least for now.

Maybe those monsters will go away… eventually. And then-

And then I don't know what to do. I could just hide up here until Mum and Dad get home. I mean, those monsters can't get me up here. And that's good.

Oh, I just really hope Sandra's okay. I hope she got away from that man, and that it wasn't her screams that I just heard. I wish I knew what happened to her, but all I can do (what with the horde of monsters below me) is get comfortable. I can tell it's gonna be a long wait.

Ow! Stupid splinters.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

**Jacob**

"I thought doctors were supposed to do no harm." I hiss.

"Oh, don't be such a baby."

"I'm not a baby! I'm nine."

"Well, I suppose that makes you a man, then?"

YEOWCH! God, would it kill her to be a little gentler with the yanking? I'm not made of stone, after all. She goes in for another stitch-

"¡MIERDA!"

In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have sworn like that. But, I mean, c'mon. I'd like to see anybody else refrain from swearing when a metal spike (needle, whatever) is being jabbed through your already-torn flesh.

But of course, Señora Lines doesn't see it that way.

"¡Cuidado con tu idioma, niño!" she chides, flicking my head (as if I wasn't injured enough). "It's unbecoming of you."

'Unbecoming'? What am I, a prim and proper lady? Destined to be swept away by a Prince Charming in a white carriage? Huh, I can almost see it. A girl version of me… dancing in a white dress…

Ugh! Bad image.

I shiver at the thought… which, in my typical fashion, leads to a rather nasty prick from the famed Needle of Torment. I hate my life.

"Owwww." I whimper.

"And we're done!" Ms Lines exclaims, snipping the thread. Her fingers glide over the stitches (maybe she's checking if they'll stay put?) as she growls. "That _bastardo _is really gonna pay for it this time."

_Oh… that's why_.

She kneels in front of me and looks me in the eye. "Why didn't you tell me he was getting worse?"

"I didn't want to worry you." I look down at my feet; I can't bear to see her disappointment. "And he's never gone this far before."

I hear her sigh as she closes the first aid kit.

"Well, on the bright side," she smiles weakly. "At least this time, we have proof; proof that he can't deny this time."

Somehow, I doubt that (Dad always manages to worm his way out of trouble), but I nod silently in agreement. Ms Lines' hand clasps firmly around my wrist as her fingers gently raise my chin so that I may gaze into her striking-blue eyes.

"Always remember to look on the bright side, niño," she whispers. "It can keep you sane, even at the worst of times."

I can't help but smile. Her positivity is contagious. She ruffles my hair (_no, not the hair!_) and walks into her 'office' (it's really just a glorified collection bin for book returns, but hey, it's got a cool chute), picking up the phone as she does so.

"Go on, go read," she shoos me away. "It'll just be a few minutes. You know the drill."

_Understatement of the century, right here, folks._

Yikes, even I'm shocked at my cynicism there. Maybe it's time to put Señora Lines' positivity to good use.

_Ahem. Oh boy, the drill! This time it'll work, I'm sure of it._

…Nope, cynicism's better, hands down.

Now, what to read, what to read? _A Brief History of Time_? No, read that last week (it was a good read though). _Harry Potter_? Nah, I've had my fill of abusive relatives for the day.

Ooh, Brian Greene's _Hidden Reality_. Come here, you delightful chapters of quantum goodness.

I snuggle into what must be the comfiest armchair in existence and dive headfirst into the wonderful realms of scientific possibility. Equations and universal concepts dance around my head like little birds, singing of the beauty of the cosmos. Ah, bliss.

Yeah, I read theoretical physics books for fun, so shut up. Don't knock it till you try it.

The sonnets of M-theory are rudely interrupted by an echoing, almost haunting, laughter. I glance out the window and what should I see but a little girl skipping side-by-side with a man. The man (who I'd assume is her father) spins her around gleefully and places her atop his shoulder, receiving a kiss from a grinning woman who could only be his wife.

I hate them. Alright, perhaps hate's too strong a word, but I certainly dislike them. Why should they enjoy something so wonderful, so beautiful? Why should they experience something that I can never have, something I always wish for when I'm alone? What did that little girl do to deserve this type of reward whilst I suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous cruelty?

The pain from my stitches becomes more prominent with every giggle I hear from that spoiled kid, only the stinging claws itself deeper into my chest, towards my very heart. I can't stand to listen to this anymore, I need a distraction. And, honestly, my headphones are a godsend right now.

The sweet melodies of music fill my ears, drowning out the girl's screams of joy. I relax into my chair and sink into the heavenly abyss of contentment. Sing it, Freddy.

Almost as quickly as it starts, the music cuts out. Typical, just bloody typical. Good thing I nicked that battery charger, I guess.

Now, where did I put the damn thing?

Ah, there it is. Huh, is there a dent on it or something? I can feel some grooves that weren't there before; I should probably make sure it isn't broken or anything. C'mon, charger, out of the bag and let's see what's-

My eyes shrink to pinpricks. I'm in such deep shit when I get home. How the hell did it get in the bag?!

Dad's revolver feels ice-cold in my grip. Oh god, oh god, he's gonna kill me. He won't even care about the police; he'll eviscerate me just for taking it out of his room, let alone out in public. He'll- he'll figure out a way to disembowel me with a wooden cooking spoon for this, I just know it.

_You're hyperventilating, Jacob. Breathe in… and out. In… and out._

Yeah, listen to the voice in my head. That'll ease my mental breakdown, for sure.

_Shut up and do it_.

Am I really having an argument with myself? I am, aren't I? I'm feeling a little dizzy, does anybody else feel dizzy?

Welp, if in doubt, follow the instructions of the imaginary voice. That'll never lead to trouble.

…

Hey, I'm feeling calmer already. How 'bout that?

"Hey, Jacob?"

_AAAHHHH! Get rid of the evidence, get rid of it!_

Into the bag goes the gun, though I wince at the clanging of metal on metal (NOW there's definitely a dent on the charger). A horrifying thought goes through my mind: did she see it?

Ms Lines enters my field of vision and… phew, she's looking down at a clipboard. I'm safe, for now.

"It seems the landlines are down, and I can't get through on my phone, so it looks like it's gonna be a while before I can get the police here."

Oh crap. That's not good, that's not good at all. This has got to be the absolute worst time for the phones to go down, and that's including the time I got left behind on that dairy farm (don't ask).

Apparently, the collapse of all rational thought shows on my face, because Ms Lines wraps me in a tight hug (_oy, watch the stitches!_).

"Don't worry," she whispers into my ear. "I'm sure everything's gonna be alright."

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

**Lucian**

"For God's sake, George, you are NOT driving!"

"Why the 'ell not, woman? I'm a better driver than you when I'm blindfolded."

"You just downed three bottles of beer… at your daughter's school no less. Do you know how reckless that is?" Mum hisses at Dad. "If you want to be responsible for the death of your son, go right on ahead and drive."

"Oh c'mon, Amber, don't be like that."

Oh boy. Maybe I should've stayed at the trailer, at least then they wouldn't be arguing over who the hell gets to drive. I barely wanna be _seen _in this big hunk of metal, let alone drive it. I genuinely believe the only 'good' thing this car does is muffle their fighting.

It's at times like this where I really envy Violet; she doesn't have to deal with this shit anymore, but then again, she'd probably want to if it meant Gran was still with us. But Jesus H. Christ, Mum and Dad's squabbling is enough to drive anyone to insanity. I'd be surprised if I don't end up in Ericson's soon with the way they carry on.

Wait a minute. That's it!

If I can act out enough (only enough to make them think something's wrong with me, not so much that they think I need to be in an insane asylum), it might be enough to convince them to send me away to Ericson's. It's a perfect plan… or at least as perfect as it could be, given its simplicity.

Yeah, Violet might be a little mad (_okay, more than a little_), but this way I could be with her, I could make up for what happened before. Plus, I can release all the anger I've kept pent up for years.

Mwahahahaha.

Oh, we're moving now. I don't know about anybody else, but I'm feeling quite tired (evil plans _really_ take it out of you). I think I'll just take a quick nap, it's a long trip back anyway.

Zzzzzzzzz.

**-_Time Break-_**

If anyone, and I mean anyone (_looking at you, Vi_), ever says that I drool in my sleep, then I've got something to tell you: they're filthy liars. Never mind the drool stains on my shirt (_uh, I mean sweat stains_), they're obviously lying, 'cos I don't drool. Nuh-uh.

I wipe the droo- sweat off my face and look outside at the streets speeding past. How long was I asleep? I don't recognise where we are now. Did we take a backroad or something?

On the bright side, Mum and Dad have stopped arguing, so that's an improvement. Peace and quiet, at last. I feel lighter already. There's literally a weight missing above my leg, but what could it be?

Wait, where's the knife? Where's the knife Violet gave me?

I pat my pockets frantically. Nothing. Ahh, where is it, where is it?

My eye's getting a little irritated, but from what, exactly? I turn my head slightly to the floor, and a glint of sunlight reflects off something, effectively blinding me. I squint and just make out the familiar red sheen of the knife's casing, which shudders every so often with the vibrations of the car.

I let loose a breath I didn't know I was holding. Thank whatever god is responsible for lost items; if I'd lost this, Vi would've killed me. She's never been one to give out gifts freely, so if I had to tell her I couldn't find her knife… I'm afraid to think of what she'd do.

With barely a thought, I twirl the knife between my fingers. It's actually got a nice weight to it; not too light, not too heavy, but _just _right. Oh no, I'm practically a boy Goldilocks now, right down to the hair. I wouldn't be surprised if an angry bear charged out of the trees at this point.

"Boy," Dad slurs. "Give me that. Now."

Of course, he would see it, I'm not even shocked. Bastard never pays attention when you want him to, but when you don't, he's on you like white on rice. This time, I'm not giving him the satisfaction of ruining my fun. And besides, this seems like the perfect time to begin phase one of Operation Ericson (I'm still working on the name).

An evil (_at least, I hope it looks evil_) smile spreads across my face. "Nope."

"Give it to me." he orders again. A scowl is starting to make its way onto his face. Yep, he's getting angry already. "Now!"

I need to egg him on a little more. "Why should I?"

"Lucian Isaac Prince," Mum responds, not even turning her head. "Listen to your father."

Ugh, she used my full name, I'm 'contractually obligated' to obey now.

"Fine." I groan.

_Enacting the second stage in three, two, one._

_RIIIIPPPP!_

The knife slices through the leather backing of Dad's chair, cutting through it like- well, like a knife through butter. I don't think even I can describe the look of absolute rage that befell upon my dad at that moment.

"You little shit!" he roars, backhanding me in the face. "Do ya know how much this fucking car cost?!"

I rub my head as I glare at him, all the pent-up anger barely contained within me. I want to scream and shout at him; not just for the slap, but for every time he made things harder for me, for Violet, for us, by laying about the trailer drunk off his arse. How about the next best thing then?

"Oops." If he can't hear the sarcasm, there's no hope for him whatsoever. "Sorry, my hand slipped."

Mum takes her eyes off the road, FINALLY acknowledging that there is something wrong in the car (I'd suggest the fat drunkard next to her, but that's just me), and looks at the headrest, a light gasp escaping her lips.

"Fuck!" she exclaims, her eyes damn near popping out of her head as she turns to me. "We're behind on payments as it is, Lucian. We can't afford this."

Okay, maybe I've gone a little too far with this. Hindsight is 20-20, it seems.

Dad, of course, has something else to say. Why can't he just keep his mouth shut?

"The fuck we can't," is his response. "He gets a job and pays for this shit himself. That'll teach him to not be a fucking idiot all his life."

Really? The unemployed parent is going to be the one to force an eleven-year-old to get a job? Does anyone else smell the hypocrisy here?

Mum glares at Dad. "Stop it, George! We've already got one fucked-up child, I don't want you creating another one with your constant belittling."

Alright, forget everything I just said about going too far. I don't think I went far enough. It's one thing to say that Violet is troubled, but it's another to call her 'fucked-up'. Prepare for war, Mum and Dad, 'cos it's gonna arrive with much more punch than initially planned.

"The damage isn't too bad." Mum continues, her fingers brushing over the tear. She sighs. "Maybe if we-"

_SCREEEEEEEE!_

What's that noise? I look out the window and-

Oh shit.

_CRASH!_

**_-Time Break-_**

_Ohhhhhhh, my head._

My neck burns like it's on fire; I've honestly never felt this much pain in my life. I feel dizzy, my head spinning with every breath I take. A foul smell fills my nostrils; a combination of something burnt and some other horrible odour. Holy crap, that stinks!

Something's trickling down the side of my face. Is it water or… what is it? It feels rather hot in my fingers; I really hope it's not what I think it is. I need to look; I can't tell any other way.

I- I can't see anything. Ohmigod, I seriously can't see anything. My heart feels like it's about to beat out of my chest; what if I can never see again? My eyes aren't hurting at all, but does that mean I've gone blind? Oh crap, oh crap…

I touch at my face, near my eyes, and the same hot liquid seeps through my fingers. No. No, no, no, no, no, no! It can't be… blood, can it? Oh god, it is, isn't it?

I rub at my eyes fervently, sweat and tears are beginning to pool. I rock back and forth in my chair, with (what feels like) the seatbelt cutting into my skin. Oh, what am I gonna do, what am I-?

Wait. I can see a light now. I- I can see?!

Hope swells in my chest like a balloon as I continue rubbing at my eyes. Nothing, not even an extra ray of sunshine. But then how did-?

Hold on. I think I've got an idea. A disgusting one, but an idea, nonetheless.

_ACH! PTOO!_

Ugh, that's nasty. This better be worth it.

Yowch! God, that stings, but… it-it's working. I'm starting to see more with each dab, I don't think I've ever felt as grateful for my eyesight as I do right now. Nothing can bring me down from the high I'm experiencing.

I look around the car. Spoke too soon.

The roof, which has crumpled like a soda can, is littered with countless shards of glass that seem to defy gravity (for some reason). The seats have been almost torn to shreds, the padding spilling out in several places, and my window is completely smashed, with its frame all twisted and crushed. An orange light bathes the car, flickering every so often, casting shadows on my side of-

Wait a sec. _Flickering_?

My head whips around to the other side of the car, and I can just see the tell-tale dancing of (apparently upside-down) flames through the cracked glass, edging closer towards me with each passing second. I fumble with the seatbelt button for a moment, trying to get it to release me, until…

_THUMP!_

…Until I fall onto the roof apparently. Well, that explains a lot. Ow.

Ignoring the cuts I've just received (_thanks a lot, car_), I crawl over to my door and shove with all my might. All I get for my troubles is a sore shoulder. There goes that idea, and the gap where the window once was is too small to slip through. Oh crap. Crap! That means the only way out is…

Great. I need to get closer to the fire to get out. That's just perfect.

The fire spreads further with every inch I move, and the glass shards continue to dig deeper into my arms. A few teeth pierce my skin (I hope none of them were mine) as I make my way to the exit, where I can hopefully meet up with Mum and Dad.

Speaking of which, where are Mum and Dad? Did they get out?

I swivel around and spare a glance to the front of the car. The windscreen is entirely obscured by concrete and blood, and in the driver's seat…

Holy shit.

A "Mum?" escapes my lips. I really want to look away, but I can't tear my eyes from the horrific sight before me. Tears (of grief, this time) flood and stream down my face, mercifully blurring my vision, but it's too late. That image is now burned into my memory forever.

I eventually manage to shut my eyes, but I can still see her staring straight into my soul, the life having long since faded from the glassy orbs that once held her many years of stress. I still see the blood pooling around her face, gushing from her neck, which had broken in at least two places, the bones spiking up through her skin. And the shredded remains of a seatbelt swinging by her foot, the material stained red in several blotches up and down the strip.

My throat burns as I retch up whatever food remained in my stomach.

I'm scared to even peek at Dad, but I need to check if he's alive. I may despise the man at times, but that doesn't mean I'd leave him to die. I'm not that heartless.

Unlike Mum, Dad is still hanging in his seat, with only a few cuts and a tonne of bruises adorning his face, but that's as far as his visible injuries go. He might still be alive.

"Dad?" I croak, shaking him gently (okay, maybe not so gently, but to be fair, there's a fire right outside the fricking door).

It doesn't take long before he stirs, spluttering and spewing what I can only hope is his beer (though the smell says otherwise). He twists and turns around in his seat, eventually locking eyes with me, with his usual unfocussed gaze replaced with a sharp and attentive stare. Of course, it takes a crash to get him to sober up. Yep, that seems about right.

"Boy," he grumbles, wincing as he claws at the seatbelt around his neck. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Forgive me for being a little taken aback. This doesn't exactly happen much.

"Uh, yeah." I reply, glancing at my battered hands. "I-I'm fine… I think."

"Good," he responds dumbly. "Good."

His eyes land on Mum's broken body. "Amber!" he yells, reaching out to her, falling just short. "Oh goddammit, Amber!"

Noises of sobbing and struggling emanate from him as he tries to rip the seatbelt off, to no avail. As he does this, I notice that the fire has now reached the car and has made its way to the top (_or is it the bottom?_) of the car. How the flames got up there, I have no clue, but what I do know is that we really need to get out quick.

"The knife!" I hear Dad shout. "Cut me loose!"

The knife? Yeah, yeah, good idea.

God, if this isn't déjà vu, I don't know what is.

It's starting to get hot in here; I don't know how much more the car can take. Not much if the melting rubber is any indication. Ah, where is the stupid thing? If I have to- oh nah, here it is.

A sickening _CRACK _echoes from behind me.

"Am-Amber?" Dad asks. "You're- you're alive? Oh, thank God! We- I thought you were dead."

I shift around and- oh my god, she IS alive. Blood continues to leak down her neck, but she shows no signs of feeling it. Her milky white eyes peer at Dad blankly, as if she doesn't understand what she's seeing.

But… Mum's eyes are brown, not white. Something's wrong (other than the fact she was dead a minute ago).

'Mum' snarls at Dad; yep, something is _definitely_ wrong with her.

"Amber?" he gulps. She crawls toward him, giving no indication of having heard him. "H-honey, it's me. It's Geor-"

_CHOMP!_

WHAT THE FUCK?!

I back as far away from her as possible. Christ, I'm gonna end up vomiting again.

Mum gnaws into Dad's neck for a second time, ripping off huge chunks of his flesh as he writhes in agony, drowning in his own blood. He can't even muster enough strength to let out a scream; but I sure as hell can muster the strength to get out of this car quickly.

I kick once, twice; on the third time, what remains of the window topples out of its frame and I clamber through, not even caring about the molten rubber that drips onto my shoulder. I just need to get away from the… _monster_ that is my mother.

Blood splatters onto Dad's window. I don't even want to imagine what that monster is doing to him; it can't be good, whatever it is.

My back hits the cold metal of the van that must've hit us. I can barely think. My body rocks back and forth of its own accord. I just want to wake up from this nightmare. Please let this be nothing more than a figment of my imagination. Please.

A shiver runs up my spine. Something bad is about to happen, I just know it.

_BOOM!_

The car erupts into a blazing inferno; small glowing pieces of metal and rubber fall to the ground like a hellish rain, peppering me with hundreds of little red marks all over my skin and igniting tiny patches of my clothes. I bite down on my lip so hard it begins to bleed; I can't take it anymore.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

* * *

**Author Note: As always, put me on author/story alert, favourite and review the story. Hope you've all enjoyed this chapter. A new one will be up soon. Don't worry about me abandoning this story. There's no hope in hell that I'm going to do that.**


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